


Peanut Butter Bars

by GayApril16



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baker Dean Winchester, Baker Sam Winchester, Bakery Shop Owner Dean Winchester, Bakery Shop Owner Sam Winchester, Bisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester First Meet, Castiel is a Novak (Supernatural), Chocolatier Gabriel, Destiel - Freeform, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Gabriel is a Novak (Supernatural), M/M, Meet-Cute, One Shot, Pansexual Gabriel (Supernatural), Peanut Butter Bars, Pie, Sabriel - Freeform, Supernatural AU - Freeform, The Family Business, bi sam winchester, flower shop owner castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayApril16/pseuds/GayApril16
Summary: It's an average day at the Winchesters' bakery when they receive a shipment of plant food that's obviously not theirs, which is how Dean meets the new guy who's opening a flower shop down the street.Two weeks later, they're still getting plant food shipments, and Sam decides to deliver the latest one himself so that Dean doesn't get distracted—which is how he runs into Cas' older brother.Bakery/Flowershop Destiel/Sabriel AU*Now with a second chapter (Sabriel)!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 22
Kudos: 283





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am only a casual baker, so please excuse any baking inaccuracies. : )

“Hey, Sam?” Dean called, squinting at the shipping label of the large box in front of him. It had been delivered with all of the other packages that had come in that morning, left on top of the stack in the back of the storeroom.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, stepping into the room. His apron was already streaked with flour, and there was a large smear of chocolate across his cheek.

Dean chuckled. “Uh, you got a little somethin’ . . .” he gestured at the same area on his own face.

Sam rolled his eyes, wiping the chocolate off with the heel of his hand. “What is it?” he asked.

Dean glanced back down at the anomalous package, scanning over the label. “I was hoping you could tell me. You didn’t happen to order fifteen pounds of plant food, did you?”

“ _Fif_ —no, I didn’t. Is that what that box is?”

“Apparently so.” Dean poked at a smudge of something that was partially covering the delivery address, making it difficult to read. “It’s probably been misdelivered.”

“There’s no name?”

“Nope. Just a dirty address.”

Almost simultaneously, the timers in the kitchen went off and the service bell at the front desk rang.

“I’ve got the front,” Dean said. Sam hurried back to the kitchen as Dean slipped out front, already wearing his best customer-smile. A sweet-looking elderly woman was peering through the glass cases that ran from wall to wall, displaying the baked goods. 

“How can I help you, ma’am?” Dean asked easily as she straightened up.

“Oh, you’re a handsome boy, aren’t you?” she said, giving him a motherly smile.

Dean chuckled. “I like to think so, ma’am.”

“Well, you are.” She glanced back at the wide array of sweets and pastries, then asked, “Any recommendations? Everything looks delightful—and smells delicious, too.”

“Well,” Dean said, mentally running down the list, “the cinnamon-apple pie has always been my personal favorite.”

“An oldie but a goodie,” the woman commented brightly. “I think I’ll take it!”

Dean smiled. “How much would you like?” He moved down the display to the pie section, sliding the cinnamon-apple pie out and placing it on top of the display, which was a little higher than waist height and fashioned to double as a counter. 

“Just a slice is enough for me.”

“Alright. To stay or to go?”

“Oh, I wish I could stay. You’ve got such a nice dining area.” She glanced back at the rest of the room behind her.

Dean smiled to himself as he sliced the pie, making a mental note to pass the compliment on to Sam. The dining area, which took up the majority of the shop, had been Sam’s idea after their dad had died. Round tables and comfortable chairs filled the space, illuminated brightly by the large windows that occupied two of the bakery’s walls. It gave the whole entry a sort of coffee-shop feel, if you replaced the smell of coffee with that of bread and chocolate. Dean had initially opposed the idea, but it had turned out to be good for business—those who enjoyed their purchases while still in the shop would often buy more. 

“To go it is, then,” Dean said, placing the slice of pie in a readily-positioned pastry box. 

“How much will that be?” the woman asked.

Dean punched at the register. “With tax, three dollars and five cents.”

The old lady paid with cash, then made her way out a cheery wave. 

Dean glanced around. The shop was empty, just as it usually was every midmorning. He got to work and was sliding the pie—now one piece smaller—back into its display case when Sam stuck his head out of the kitchen.

“A little help with this donut order?” Sam asked.

Two hours, three dozen donuts, eleven customers and one spilled barrel of flour later, Dean was cleaning up the last of the mess while Sam was wrist-deep in bread dough. 

The front bell rang, causing Sam to look up. “You got that?” 

Dean glanced down at himself and grimaced. He was covered in flour, but it’d have to do. “Yeah.”

Dean brushed himself off as much as he could, then stepped out to the front—and forgot how to breathe. For a long moment Dean just stood stupidly, drinking in every detail—the dark, messy hair, the rumpled white button-down, the startlingly bright eyes—then kicked himself back into service mode, ignoring the heat that was creeping up the back of his neck.

“How can I help you?” Dean asked. 

For a long moment the man didn’t respond, just looked back at him. Dean was starting to wonder if the man had heard him when he shook his head a bit, seeming to pull himself out of his thoughts.

“Yes, uh, sorry,” the man said. His voice was surprisingly low, but after a moment Dean decided he liked it. 

“This may seem a bit odd,” the man continued, “but did you by chance receive a shipment of plant nutrients?”

Dean paused, then laughed when he realized what he was saying. “You mean the fifteen-pound package of flower food I’ve got in the back room is yours?”

A smile of relief broke out on the man’s face. “Yes, it is. I think it was misdelivered—I, uh, am opening a flower shop down the street.” He nodded in the general direction of his store.

Dean bit his tongue in the attempt to not smile like an idiot. “We’re basically neighbors then.” He stuck out his hand, hoping it wasn’t too awkward as he said, “Dean Winchester. Me and my brother Sam own and run this place.”

“It’s nice,” the man complimented, accepting the handshake. “I’m Castiel Novak.”

Castiel’s hand came away covered in flour. He looked at it in surprise, tilting his head, and Dean felt his cheeks go red for more reasons than one.

“Uh—sorry,” Dean stammered. “I had a little mishap in the kitchen earlier.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel said, brushing his fingers off on his shirt. “Flour _is_ kind of my thing.”

Caught off-guard by the pun, Dean blinked, then burst out laughing. Castiel smiled, looking pleased with himself.

“Well,” Dean finally said, “I’ll go grab your plant food, but is there anything else I could get you?”

“Why not?” Castiel stepped back so as to get a better view of the choices. His eyes—his startlingly _blue_ eyes—wandered over several options before he looked back to Dean, seeming a bit lost.

“Do you have any suggestions?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” Dean said easily, back in his comfort zone. “What’s your favorite milkshake flavor?”

The words had barely left Dean’s mouth when Castiel replied, “Peanut butter.”

“I—wow, that’s brave. Okay, uh,” Dean ran down his mental list of goods, absently scratching at the back of his neck. “Do you like honey?”

“Yes.”

The list shortened to one item, and Dean suppressed a smile. “Well then,” he quickly moved to the right display case, Castiel following him on the other side of the counter, “may I interest you in some honey-oat peanut butter bars?” 

“That sounds extravagant,” Castiel said, crouching so as to get a better look at the tray of bars.

Dean leaned over the counter-top of the case so as to see him better. “They’re my personal recipie.”

“They look good. How much for three?” Castiel asked, looking up at him. He was smiling, his face bright and eager.

Dean’s heart did a little flip. “On the house.”

“Oh, you don’t need to—” Castiel started to protest, straightening up.

“It’s my pleasure,” Dean insisted, giving him a look that said he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Castiel smiled again, a cute, adorkable smile, and Dean was suddenly disappointed that he had to look away to get the peanut butter bars. He slid out the tray and deftly transferred three of them into a pastry box, handing it to Castiel before darting into the storage room to get the plant food.

When he came back out, Castiel was chewing slowly, his eyes closed. Dean paused, not wanting to break the moment as he watched.

After a few seconds Castiel opened his eyes and spotted him.

“Dean—these are _delicious_ ,” he exclaimed, his mouth still full.

Dean grinned, setting the package down on the counter. Castiel pulled it across to him, setting his much-smaller pastry box on top. He finally swallowed as he glanced at the clock on the wall.

“I have to go,” he said, turning back to Dean. Dean wasn’t sure, but he sounded slightly disappointed. 

“But, uh,” Castiel added. He dug a business card that said _Angelic Bouquets_ in fancy script out of his pocket and flipped it to the back, scribbling a number with a pencil that had been lying on the register. 

“Here,” he said, holding the card out to Dean. “My, uh, personal number, in case of . . . reasons,” he finished awkwardly. Dean barely noticed, already memorizing the number that was on the card in his hands. 

“Thank you for, well, all of it,” Castiel said, picking up his boxes.

Dean looked up at him, and now he was sure he was grinning like an idiot. “Any time.”

Castiel flashed him a quick smile before he made his way to the door. It was just closing behind him when Sam came out of the kitchen.

“Who was that?” Sam asked.

“Uh, new neighbor,” Dean said, pocketing the business card.

“A new neighbor,” Sam echoed, not sounding like he believed him. “Is that why you’re red?”

Dean turned away so Sam couldn’t see him smile. “Shut up, Sammy.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning to write this segment (I actually didn't even know this ship existed when I wrote this; new to the fandom), but the idea popped into my head late last night and I figured why not. Destiel's my OTP, but Sabriel is always fun to write.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sam sighed in exasperation as he spotted yet another package of plant food mixed among their morning deliveries. It made the fourth in the last two weeks, and would make the third instance of Dean vanishing for over an hour if Sam let him deliver it later today. As much as Sam loved his brother, they _were_ running a bakery, and he really couldn’t keep ending up managing both the kitchen and the front alone for such a long time.

 _Maybe it’s time to hire some employees,_ Sam thought ruefully as he separated the plant food from the rest of the packages. He leaned over the table so he could see into the kitchen, then waited until Dean had his hands in dough before calling, “Dean, I’m gonna run a few errands real fast. Are we out of anything small?”

“Pecans and honey,” Dean replied without looking up. “Be quick though. We’ve got to get these cookies in, ASAP.”

“You’re making banana bread,” Sam pointed out.

“ _After_ the banana bread, genius. We’ve only got, uh—” Dean leaned back so he could see the clock on the other side of the room “—thirty minutes before we open.”

“I’ll be fast,” Sam promised, scooping the package into his arms. Then he was out the back door and enveloped in the fresh, brisk air of a morning that hadn’t yet been touched by sun. The sky was blue, though, so it should be rising soon.

Sam made his way down the back alley to _Angelic Bouquets_. It was only four doors down, and thankfully the plant food wasn’t that heavy, so Sam got there quickly—but he hesitated when he reached the back. Cas didn’t open shop until an hour after they did, a time that was currently almost two hours away. Would Cas even be here?

Sam resolved to simply leave the package by the back door, but before he did he knocked, just in case. To his surprise, the door moved at his touch, gently swinging inwards.

The store was still dark. The scent of flowers drifted out, thick and subtle at the same time. Sam craned his head, trying to see down the hallway, but the only thing he could see was a pile of boxes lining the wall.

Sam decided to leave the box inside. At first he was going to put it with the other boxes, but a second glance showed that they were marked as backroom stuff. Cas was obviously still moving in. Putting the plant food with them might end up getting it lost, so Sam carefully made his way to the front of the store, where stands of flowers lined the walls and made aisles along the room. He tucked the box behind the counter, out of sight of potential customers but still in an obvious location to anyone running the shop.

“Can I help you?”

Sam swore, spinning around in surprise. He found himself confronted by a man who was obviously not Cas. The first thing that Sam noticed was that he was short—at least a foot shorter than Sam himself. Second was that his arms were folded over his chest—and that he was pinning Sam with a scathing glare.

“I’m not robbing you,” was the first thing that came out of Sam’s mouth. Instantly he mentally facepalmed. 

The man raised his eyebrows. “I hope not. You’d make a lousy thief.”

Sam felt a blush heat his cheeks. “I’m Sam Winchester,” he said, probably a little more forcefully than needed as he stuck out his hand. “I run a bakery down the street with my brother. And, uh, you are?” It was only at that moment that Sam realized that he was talking to a complete stranger in a dark flower shop. _He_ could be a robber, for all Sam knew.

“Gabriel Novak, Cassie’s big brother,” the man said, taking Sam’s hand. Not a robber, then. He had a firm grip, but held onto Sam’s hand a little longer than usual—while smirking. Wait, was he _flirting_?

“Nice to meet you,” Sam replied, not quite as evenly as he would have liked. And then half a second later asked, “Cassie?”

Gabriel’s smirk turned into a full grin. “Everybody deserves a good nickname,” he said with faux-innocence. 

Sam snorted. “Dean and I just call him Cas. Though, I’ve only met him like, once,” he amended, not wanting to seem like he was trying to impose. 

“Dean,” Gabriel mused, tapping his lips in a thoughtful way. “He wouldn’t be the hot, green-eyed baker that my brother won’t shut up about, would it?”

Sam barked out a laugh. “ _I_ keep having to hear about a blue-eyed florist.”

Gabriel snickered. And in that moment, the sun finally peeked over the mountains. Sam forgot how to breathe. The sunlight streamed through the store’s large windows and turned Gabriel’s eyes to molten gold, bright and shining with laughter and mischief. The color almost seemed to be shifting, as if made of magic.

When Sam finally pulled his gaze away from Gabriel's eyes, he found that the rest of him was just as stunning.

Sam didn’t realize he was staring until he realized that Gabriel was staring back. The shorter man blinked and let out a low whistle. “Man, I should have turned on the lights sooner,” he said, pointedly looking Sam up and down.

Flustered, Sam tossed back, “Are you saying that you made the sun rise?”

Gabriel flashed a grin, once again causing Sam to forget how to breathe. “Who says I didn’t?” he said as he leaned against a stand of flowers, not very effectively. “I _am_ named after an archangel.”

“ _Named_ being the key word,” Sam pointed out, but he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. 

For a moment Gabriel seemed at a loss to respond, his eyes slowly tracing Sam’s face. Just as Sam was about to look away, sure that he was blushing, Gabriel ducked his head, his smile returning.

“So,” he said brightly, looking back up. “You bake any sweet stuff?”

Sam laughed. “Of course I do. Do you work here with Cas?” he shot back.

Gabriel made a face. “Nah. Just helping him move in. I’m not a flower guy.”

“So what type of guy are you?” Sam asked, curious. 

“Candy,” was Gabriel’s instant response. “Taffy, hard candies, but my specialty is chocolate. I’ve only really dabbled in the other stuff—they take too much specialized machinery.”

“And chocolate doesn’t?” 

“Not unless you want to mass-produce.”

Sam couldn’t decide if it was Gabriel's passion or the gold that made his eyes seem to literally shine, but either way, he could look at them all day.

“Actually, I even had my own shop,” Gabriel continued. His smile dimmed. “Money got tight, though, so I had to sell . . .” For a moment he looked distant, obviously remembering something. Then he clapped his hands together and his smile reappeared. “Anyways! I’m gonna be moving out here myself to be closer to Cassie. Family and all that stuff, y’know?”

Sam smiled. Then a thought occurred to him, and—“Oh, _shoot!_ ” he exclaimed, spinning to find a clock. He finally found one stashed in the back corner. 

Sam turned back to Gabriel with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry—we open in fifteen minutes, and I have errands to run.”

Gabriel waved him off. “I know how it is, go right ahead.”

Sam darted for the door until Gabriel called after him, “Hang on, why were you here?”

Sam spun and pointed at the front desk. “Plant food.”

Gabriel groaned. “ _Again?_ That's another three month’s worth.”

Sam blanched at that, then burst out laughing. “I think we're in for a ride with those two. See ya, Gabe.”

“Gabe?” Gabriel asked, looking amused.

Sam grinned. “Everybody deserves a good nickname.”

Gabriel’s mouth fell open in surprise, then his expression flickered to one of slight offense. His eyes were sparkling with laughter the entire time. “See ya around, Samsquatch.”

Sam snorted at the ridiculous nickname, then he was out the door and hurrying around the building to cross the street. Luckily the general goods store opened early, so he grabbed what he needed and made his way back to the bakery with minutes to spare.

“Dean,” Sam burst out as he ran into the kitchen, a smile already forming on his face. Dean looked up in alarm. Sam didn’t give him time to say anything before he asked, “What do you think about hiring a chocolatier?”

Dean blinked at him. “Hold up—say _what_ now?”


End file.
